


Gift Wrap

by margdean56



Series: Tower Mountain/New Hope stories [9]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: Gen, Peysol/Lake, Tower Mountain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margdean56/pseuds/margdean56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peysol's initial meeting with Lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift Wrap

**Author's Note:**

> This fell out one day, early in the Tower's history, practically in one piece once I realized that Peysol wanted to tell it in first person.
> 
> Originally published in _Tales of the Tower #3_

TWR 1118

"Peysol, beloved!"

There are only two elves in Tower Mountain who call me that. Leravie is allowed. Jand does it anyway.

I glanced up from my sketch table and tried to keep most of the exasperation out of my voice. "What is it, Jand?" Everyone's favorite Declared was lounging in the doorway of my workroom with an immensely self-satisfied smirk on his face. He was in his Declared's one-piece rather than one of his ornate gowns, and wore only a minimum of jewelry, so I guessed he had recently come off patrol.

"Malra and I have a little commission for you."

"I'm sorry, Jand," I told him. "I'm not at liberty at the moment. I'm designing for Mikail's new production and he needs the costume sketches by the end of the moon. Come back four days from now and I'll see what I can do for you then." I made a few more strokes in the wax to show I meant it.

"Oh, we can't possibly wait that long," Jand purred. "This is a very important assignment, very timely. It's a gift for Lord Beloved.”

That got my attention, as it was meant to. Even Mikail has to take second place to his uncle, the lord of Tower Mountain. Jand might be putting me on, of course, but I supposed I had better listen to what he had to say. I laid down my stylus and looked at him. "All right, Jand. What is this 'little commission'?"

He smiled and called over his shoulder into the hallway behind him, "Bring her in, Malra beloved." _Her?_ I thought in surprise and wondered what I had gotten myself into. Well, I hadn't agreed to anything yet.

Malra came in, looking even sloppier than usual. He was in flight dress too, but his looked as if he had gone swimming in it. No, only the front and arms were damp. He was leading someone by the hand.

At my first sight of her my breath caught. So small and frail—a child? In the next few moments I realized I was mistaken. She was the smallest elf I had ever seen, but under the linen bathsheet she held clutched around her, the contours of her body were a maiden's, not a child's. Her hair was long and soft and as white as snow, her skin nearly as pale. I could not see much of her face, for her head drooped and her hair hung down in front of it.

"We found her digging in the garbage heap at the edge of the humans' barracks," Malra was saying. "I was the one who spotted her first. I called Jand and we snuck up on her and grabbed her so fast she didn't even have time to run." Or perhaps she hadn't had the sense to run, I thought with a pang. I doubt that most Outsiders are accustomed to fleeing their own kind. "She smelled even worse than the garbage," Malra went on with a snicker. "We cleaned her up for you, Peysol."

_We?_ I thought sardonically. I noticed that Jand wasn't wet. It was typical of him to get Malra to do the dirty work, and typical of Malra to fall for it. "So you two captured a stray Outsider," I said. "I still don't see what—"

"Why, Peysol beloved!" Jand interrupted. "Surely you can see that this Outsider is very—unusual. You know how much Lord Beloved enjoys anything unusual. The perfect gift, wouldn't you say?" He looked over at Malra, who nodded, smirking as if it were his idea—which I'd lay odds it was not. The Outsider wasn't reacting at all. I began to wonder what was wrong with her.

"All right," I hedged. "So you want to gift Lord Tyaar with this 'unusual' Outsider. Where do I come into it?"

"Well, we can't, y’know, give her to Tyaar in a bathsheet!" Malra exclaimed. "We had to burn that stuff she had on." Jand glared at him, then turned back to me.

"A gift is so much more effective when tastefully presented," he said smoothly. He paused, then added, "We would see to it, of course, that our beloved lord knew of your contribution."

My first reaction was, _I don't need your patronage, Jand._ My second was the wry thought that my contribution would be obvious whether Jand said anything or not. Lord Tyaar knows my style by now, as does practically every other elf in the Tower.

"Let me see her," I said, coming around from behind the sketch table. I knelt down in front of the tiny elf and gently raised her chin with one finger. Wide eyes looked into mine, eyes the color of a dawn sky or the curled insides of shells, with ruby centers. Some of my startlement must have shown in my face, and Jand was watching me like a hawk.

"As you see, Peysol beloved," he murmured, "she is most unusual."

"That she is," I agreed, fascinated. "Very well, Jand. I accept your commission."

"Excellent," he said in a pleased tone. Then he uncovered his hidden throw. "We think that the best time for the presentation will be at Beliel's dinner party tomorrow evening. Lord Beloved will be in attendance and in the mood for sport. I am sure he will appreciate our thoughtfulness."

_And Beliel will be livid at being upstaged,_ I thought. _Jand beloved, you tread on very dangerous ground._ The Tower's second-in-command is not a safe person to cross. I usually try to avoid doing so. "You're not giving me much time, Jand." Which was true—little more than a night and a day.

"I feel sure you will be equal to the challenge, Peysol beloved."

What could I say? I have never been able to resist a challenge. And those shell-pink eyes were already beginning to give me ideas. I looked up at Jand and nodded. "Tomorrow evening, then," I agreed. "Come back for her at sunset. She will be ready."

"Can't you just, like, y’know, measure her or something?" Malra blurted. Either he didn't trust me with her or he wanted to try her for himself first. At least I could spare her that.

"If I do this, I do it my way," I said. "If I have to work that fast, I'll need her here. There won't be time for alterations."

"Of course, of course," Jand soothed. "Just as you wish, Peysol beloved. We shall return for her tomorrow at sunset. Come, Malra." He swept out of the room with Malra in tow, then stuck his head back in the door. "Oh, and Peysol beloved," he lilted, "it's to be a _surprise_!" Then he was gone.

_A surprise, eh?_ I thought sourly. _Not with Malra in on the secret, it won't be._ We have a saying: "If you want everyone in the Tower to know something, tell Malra first and make him promise not to tell _anyone_." On the other hand, Jand knew that as well as I did and probably had some distraction planned. In any case, it meant I was on my own and could not enlist any help on the project.

I took another look at the tiny pale elf maiden. She certainly was unusual; Jand was right about that. I had never seen an elf with her coloring before. Most Tower elves are pale because we see the sun so infrequently, but this elf seemed to have no color in her skin at all except for the faintest flush of pink in the lips and the tips of her ears. Her features, once you got past those eyes, were delicately molded, almost child-fine. Not a child, no, but not far past it, I decided.

"Come, little beauty, let's see what the rest of you looks like," I said. When she did not respond, I reached for the hand that held the bathsheet wrapped around her. That provoked a reaction: she clutched at the sheet and backed away a step, hanging her head as if ashamed. "Now, now, don't be frightened," I soothed. "No one's going to hurt you." I hoped that wasn't a lie. "We're going to make some beautiful clothes for you and I need to know what I have to work with. All right?" I raised her chin again and searched her face. The pink eyes showed no comprehension, but this time she did not resist as I gently disengaged her fingers and let the sheet fall away.

Like her face, her body was fine-boned and delicate, but it was immediately obvious that she should not be this thin. Her ribs stuck out like bare branches. "High Ones, little one, you're skin and bone!" I remembered what Malra had said; they found her digging through the garbage heap, looking for food, no doubt. Poor little waif! It was a wonder she could still stand.

She was beginning to shiver. I keep telling myself I ought to have something done about the draft in my workroom, but somehow I never get around to it. I scooped up the sheet and wrapped the maiden in it, then took her in my arms and carried her into the back room. Her frail form was frighteningly weightless. I laid her down on the bed I have there to use when I'm working late, and pulled the quilted coverlet over her. She stared up at me with the wide eyes of a frightened animal. "Stay there, little one," I told her, though the admonition was hardly necessary; she seemed too scared to move. I patted her shoulder under the coverlet. "We'll get you something to eat. Then we'll worry about what comes next."

Luckily I was able to find Hogar, one of my human attendants, sorting bolts of cloth in the supply room next door. "Hogar, I need you to go down to the kitchens for me. Bring up some bread and a bowl of whatever they have over the fire down there—soup for preference, but we won't be fussy. Filling and hot is what we want. Don't linger."

"Yes, Honored One," he said and went out. I hurried back to the workroom to check on my strange new client. She was curled up on the bed with the covers clutched around her, fast asleep; she looked more pathetic than ever. _Poor little waif,_ I thought again, cringing inwardly at the image of this fragile maiden in the midst of one of Beliel's parties. For a moment I entertained the wild notion of giving her a hot meal and slipping her out the back Door. But that would not be as easy as it sounds, would get me in trouble not only with Jand but possibly with Lord Tyaar as well, and in the long run would be no kindness. She obviously had not been keeping herself any too well Outside. One full meal would do no more than prolong the pains of starvation. In another moon or so she would likely be dead.

No; the best thing I could do for her, I decided, was to fulfill my commission and make her pleasing to Lord Tyaar. My lord has an eye for beauty and can be most generous toward those who please him, as I have reason to know.

I had just returned to the main workroom to wait for Hogar when Winken came bouncing in, wearing rehearsal clothes and dancing slippers. "Hello, Father! Tandeya wants to borrow a pot of drawing wax and Mikail asked me to ask you how the designs are coming."

That's Mikail for you, always impatient. "Tell Mikail the sketches are going to take a day or so longer than I planned. I just had a surprise project dropped on me—a special commission for Himself." It wasn't exactly a lie, though Lord Tyaar presumably knew nothing of the project as yet. "Tell him I'll make up the time in the construction." I could do without a few nights' sleep if I had to.

"A surprise project? What is it?" Winken wanted to know.

"It's a secret," I told him, putting the pot of wax into his hands and ruffling his dark hair. "You'll find out when the time comes. Oh, and Winken," I added as he turned to go, "do me a favor and spread the word that I'm not to be disturbed till tomorrow night. All right?"

"All right." He breezed out, almost colliding with Hogar in the doorway but avoiding the human with his usual agility.

I took the tray from Hogar and sent him back into the supply room to finish sorting the cloth. I pulled the embroidered hangings across the doorway of my workroom, a clear message to all and sundry that I did not wish to be disturbed. Then I went back to look in on my charge. When I pushed the curtain aside I saw she was awake and staring at me. Probably the voices outside had roused her. She sat up when she saw the tray in my hands, or perhaps she smelled the hot broth. I sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and set the tray on the small table next to it.

"Easy there, little one," I warned her, catching her hands as she made a grab for the food. "I know you're starving, but you'll only make yourself ill if you gobble. Slow and steady is the trick." I spooned up some of the herb-scented yellow broth. "Open up."

I fed her a little at a time, crumbling the bread into the soup to help it go down more easily. As I did so I talked, partly to distract her from making another grab at the tray and partly in hopes of getting a response from her. I was beginning to have serious doubts about whether there was a rational mind behind those lovely pink eyes.

"The two ruffians who brought you in here probably didn't bother to tell you anything about where you are," I remarked. "This is Tower Mountain. My name is Peysol and it's my job to make you beautiful—more so than you are already, that is." I smiled at her. "Do you have a name, little one?" She didn't answer, but she did seem to be listening. "The young scapegrace who came rattling in here a little while ago is my son Winken," I continued. "He's a member of the dance troupe here in the Tower. You'll have to see some of our performances while you're here. His brother is a musician..." I babbled on, about my family, about the various activities in the Tower, anything I could think of to keep her attention while the soup went down spoonful by spoonful. At last the food was gone, and I fancied there was a hint of pink in her pale cheeks.

"To work now," I told her. "We haven't all that much time. If you'll come back out into my workroom, my lady, we'll take your measurements and get started." I offered her my hand and she took it, staring at me all the while. I led her into the workroom and stood her next to the drawing table while I set aside the wax tray I had been working on and relit the brazier to soften up a fresh one. "I'll make this as quick as I can. Then you can get back into that nice warm bed while I work up a design." I took out a measuring tape and knelt next to her. "Lift your arms a little, please." She just stared at me, but when I raised her arms for her she held them in place.

"Pink," I said to her as I made the measurements and marked them on the tape with charcoal. "Do you know how long it's been since I was able to dress anyone in pink?" Abruptly I remembered certain other elves I had dressed in pink, and I wavered. Liera ... and Wisprian. It might be dangerous to do anything to remind Lord Tyaar of his dead daughter. On the other hand, I doubted he would make the connection consciously. If I could get him feeling protective ... arouse his desires at the same time...

Maybe not _all_ pink...

By the time I finished the measurements, the ideas were coming thick and fast. I packed my charge off to bed with almost indecent haste and attacked the sketch table with a will, working far into the night.

I intended to catch a little sleep somewhere along the line, but I don't think I ever did. I did remember to send for food a few more times—not for myself but for her. When I'm in a fit of creation, eating is the last thing on my mind. Once I worked out the design to my satisfaction I had to select my materials, then begin construction. During the latter phase I took my charge out of bed every so often for a fitting, standing her in the mirrored corner of the workroom. It seemed to me that she began to take a real interest in what I was doing, staring at her doubly reflected image in fascination. How much she understood of my continual chatter I wasn't sure, but it too seemed to be having a favorable effect. The last few times I came in to fetch her, she hopped out of bed without waiting to be asked.

At last the costume was ready. Given the supposed secrecy of the project, I couldn’t use any of the public baths. I improvised by having Hogar bring in a tub of hot water, to which I added some of the perfumed oils I had gotten from Feyhr several moons ago in exchange for a new party robe. I bathed her more carefully than Malra had, taking especial pains with her hair, before dressing her for the final time.

One of my trademarks is the costume that comes away in stages; this one had three. Outermost was a full-length, filmy cloak in a circular pattern, made of Vayree's finest websilk, colored a delicate coral-pink that just matched her eyes. A large round collar edged with pearls rose up behind to frame her exquisite face. This meant I had to put her hair up, but neither of us minded that a bit; I had been fairly itching to get my hands into it almost as soon as I saw it. Putting up her hair also gave the tiny elf some extra height. The pins holding it were placed so that they could be whisked out at the proper moment and let a snowy cascade tumble down around her shoulders. The cloak fastened in front with a single tie. Underneath the cloak was a sheer silk dress that fell to the floor in ruffled layers, shading from dawn-rose at the top to deep red at the bottom. It left her white shoulders and arms bare, except for the ties at the shoulders that held the dress in place. A tug at each of these would let the garment fall away in a graceful spiral and reveal the last layer, a wraparound of ruby-red silk that covered her only from breasts to hips, fastened with a belt of the same color. Cross-laced sandals of red leather completed the ensemble. At the last moment I added a single ruby on a fine silver chain to hang in the middle of her forehead.

She did not speak a word as I dressed her, but I thought she stood straighter as each piece went on, an inborn, unconscious grace asserting itself for the first time. I turned her to face one mirror and then the other after I fastened the ruby in place in her hair, letting both of us study my handiwork from all angles. "There," I murmured at last. "You look like a little queen, my dear." I chuckled softly. "Lord Tyaar will never believe Malra's story that he found you digging in the garbage heap." I myself was amazed at the transformation wrought on the half-starved waif Jand had brought me. This was a worthy gift indeed for our beloved lord. I hoped with all my heart that he would appreciate her as she deserved.

I heard footsteps outside while we were standing in front of the mirrors, then Jand's voice: "Peysol, beloved!"

"Just a moment, Jand," I called. I knelt quickly and turned the maiden to face me. "Jand and Malra are here to take you to the party," I told her, gazing into those lovely coral eyes. "Go with them and don't be afraid. No one will hurt you. No one could possibly hurt one so beautiful. You'll capture everyone's heart, I know it." I recognized my own tone of voice; it was the same one I use on Winken when he has a dance solo and gets stage fright. The maiden looked at me gravely. I hoped she understood.

I rose and drew the door-curtain aside for Jand and Malra. Jand was in full rig, gold-embroidered gown and masses of jewelry, almost too glittery to look at. Malra had on an imitation-Lord-Tyaar outfit with trailing sleeves. Both looked tawdry next to my creation. I barely suppressed a grin of triumph as I said, "As you see, your gift is ready." I presented her with a flourish. Malra's eyes popped. Jand's reaction was less extreme, but I could tell he was impressed too.

I explained the mechanics of the costume to them and had them repeat the instructions; a smooth presentation is almost as important as the costume itself. Only when I was satisfied that they knew what they were doing did I hand my charge over to them.

Just before they left she suddenly looked up at me, the beginnings of awareness in her eyes. To my astonishment I felt a sending touch my mind. There were no words or even articulate thoughts, but the emotion was clear: **thank you**

**You're very welcome, little one,** I sent back. **I hope I shall have many more opportunities to serve you.**

She turned and went out, her tiny figure somehow not overshadowed by the taller ones on either side of her.

"Go on, little queen," I murmured. "Go forth and conquer!"

I little knew how completely she would succeed.


End file.
